


Always and Unworthy

by flimsycoats



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bittersweet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Let Zelda Say Fuck, Light Angst, Light Swearing, Link as the Prince, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Role Reversal, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda as the Hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsycoats/pseuds/flimsycoats
Summary: "The threads of their fate were woven for eternity. Whether or not they enjoyed the company of the other didn't matter. Zelda was his sword, his sworn protector, and Link was her purpose. She was to cut down whatever may befall their scripted path, and he was to make sure that he was safe until the day his powers were needed—until the day he was able to fulfill his destiny. Zelda fulfilled hers the moment she picked up a sword. Link was only given one chance to prove himself. Everything that was easier for the Hero of Hyrule, was a thousand times harder for the Silent Prince.Zelda doesn't like their fate. Link doesn't like Zelda. Neither of them are willing to profess that aloud."
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 164





	Always and Unworthy

She dreamt of a land in which she ruled; prosperity, peace—a reign free of terror and chaos. The throne was free for hers to take, and whatever she pleaded, she'd get with just a measly snap of her fingers. With emerald eyes, a charming grin, and an ever-elegant composure—Zelda dreamt of a land in which she was titled queen.

Maybe she was, in a different timeline. In hers, she was not a queen, not a princess, she was not anything—but they called her a hero, for simply wielding a sword, for simply being able to lunge into battle head first, with her blade guiding her logic and her logic guiding her heart. They called her a hero because of a tradition that's been known since time immemorial; a destiny. Her fate. The rope that was tied around the edges of her fingertips, within her grasp, yet fleeting, all the same, entwining the entirety of her being to the Goddesses themselves.

Hero of Hyrule. The title was prestige—but not in the ways that mattered to her.

“His Majesty requests for your presence,” Impa shoots her a sharp glare; the vestige of fondness and comfort slipping through her pupils. Zelda returns it with a smile, pushing herself off from under the oak tree, dusting off the back of her trousers quietly. The castle grounds were filled with a variety of soldiers—training, chatting, exchanging glances amongst themselves whenever they saw her. “Immediately. Please, follow me.”

Impa was peculiar, Zelda could only think to herself, because she was always loyal to the crown prince, but never to the queen; she'd bow down if needed, but she didn't give Her Royal Highness the same look of expectancy and worry; she didn't bother staring at her for too long. Strange. Everyone in the Hyrule Castle was strange.

Zelda's always been strange as well, but she would never admit that.

Originally from the village of Hateno, the girl with strands of liquid gold was infamous for proving to be worthy as a soldier. She was seven years old when she first learned how to take a sword out of its scabbard—nine, when she was finally able to chop wood with her blade. Her father was nearing the end of fifty when he retired from the castle; so it prompted Zelda to sign up in his stead, all before the age of fourteen. Inevitably, she was a natural at the art of swords, a master at swinging her blade with ease and with mind, gracefully striking down whichever enemy dared to linger on in her path. She wasn't a hero then. She was Zelda—the soldier who danced to the clashing of swords; the appointed knight of the crown prince, his _strange_ companion.

The prince was called a lot of things. Fallen, silent, heir to a throne of nothing—much like Zelda; hero of Hyrule, the elegant knight, comfort to the prince. His Majesty was known for his supposed inadequacy. She was known for her skills and technique. He was nothing to the people, she was everything he was not.

She sighs bitterly. Curse the stars for spelling out their unwanted fortune.

“Did he say what this is about?” She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, staring at the back of Impa's head. Her companion shakes her head in response, never once looking back at her. Zelda understands why. Impa had a reputation to uphold. She looked forward, always forward, ahead of the path that she traversed through. If the prince strayed from the road, only then will Impa look back. Alas, Zelda was not the prince. She was not privileged with the assurance that Impa would go out of her way to guide her down the road.

“I certainly hope all is well,” she lets her gaze fall to the ground, her tone wavering, primarily because she was talking to herself more than she was talking to Impa. “Maybe it's the divine beasts? But, then again, the other champions are all scheduled to come back for training tomorrow, so that can't be it..”

Her trail of thought is cut short when she collides with the female from Kakariko.

“When we head inside, we will kneel, as always. The queen is not around. I'll leave you with the prince as soon as he demands it.”

Firm tone. Zelda understood why everyone in the castle trusted Impa.

The grand door that led to the private study of the prince opened with a high-pitched squeal; the marble floor retaining light scratches because of the bottom rail. She decidedly ignores it; adjusting the sleeves of her tunic, pulling them down to hide the scars she acquired from overexerting herself in her last training.

The light was blinding, but it accentuated Prince Link's chiseled features perfectly.

He stood under the shadows of the window, eyes fluttered close, a violin placed in between the space of his chin and collarbone, his fingers gliding through the fretless strings of the instrument. Link was as beautiful as he was hardworking. And under the shimmering rays of the sun, he looked something that transcended the usual meaning of the word beautiful—perhaps he was magnificent. Perhaps it was willed by the Goddesses to make him look so.. enlightening, literally, and figuratively. Zelda didn't know. Whatever the reason was, it didn't matter to her.

The same thoughts stay inside her mind even as she lowers her head and glues her right knee to the floor. When the music comes to a conclusion, she feels the weight of the prince's stare fall rightly on her figure, seemingly analyzing her stance as a whole. She could feel her composure fluctuating with each echoing footstep he took towards her.

“Zelda,” he began, placing the violin onto its case. There was a twinge of disappointment present in his tone of voice, seemingly upset over speaking her name. She understands. “I heard you defeated yet another camp of moblins near Castletown?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Dispatched and cleared.” Was her initial response, still keeping her head lowered to face the floor, shrinking under the knowing stare of her charge. Impa fights back a smirk. “They had a chest, as well, and I already delivered the ambers I acquired to the head soldier,”

The silence pricks through the walls—it pierces through the air. It doesn't bother Link one bit, as he's always been reserved, but Zelda was used to filling the emptiness with her words, her ideas; often using it as an opportunity to showcase her interest for the sciences. It made her deeply uneasy; urging her to swallow the lump that was gradually forming in her throat, and Link seems to notice her general composure faltering, as he soon opens his mouth to speak.

“Impa, give us a moment?”

The female beside Zelda nods quickly and rises, turning her back at the two of them, venturing out to guard the entrance of the study to ensure both their privacy and Link's safety.

They've never been alone together—not since Zelda was crowned champion.

“You don't have to be so nervous, you know.” He pats her by her shoulder. Afterwards, Link walks to admire his collection of books on the shelf, the volume of his voice decreasing. “Nothing's changed. Much. You have a better sword—that's all.”

Zelda exhales a breath of relief that she had been forced to keep to herself; letting her shoulders relax, pushing her legs up from the ground. She remains quiet. Her eyes intently follow his figure, slowly growing comfortable inside the room.

“With all due respect,” she lets a grin capture her lips, playful and easy, inching closer to her companion. “I personally think you're the one who's changed. Much.”

“Mhm. Believe what you will.”

“I like it better when you're quiet.”

“Is that how you're supposed to talk to the crown prince?”

By the time Link finishes speaking his rhetorical question, Zelda was already beside him, eyes reading the titles of the books that were imprinted on the spines. She feels familiar blue eyes scan her face for a reaction; Zelda convinces herself that she avoided his stare by choice, not because she cowered under his sapphire optics.

The threads of their fate were woven for eternity. Whether or not they enjoyed the company of the other didn't matter. Zelda was his sword, his sworn protector, and Link was her purpose. She was to cut down whatever may befall their scripted path, and he was to make sure that he was safe until the day his powers were needed—until the day he was able to fulfill his destiny. Zelda fulfilled hers the moment she picked up a sword. Link was only given one chance to prove himself. Everything that was easier for the Hero of Hyrule, was a thousand times harder for the Silent Prince.

Zelda doesn't like their fate. Link doesn't like Zelda. Neither of them are willing to profess that aloud.

“Do you think we'll do it right this time around?”

He was beginning to feel the burden of the prophecy. She desperately wants to answer yes. But she knew that everything was still very vague, still uncertain, especially since Link's power still hasn't awakened from its overdue slumber. She desperately wants to say that they'll succeed in defeating the calamity, just like they did all those centuries ago. But for the sake of his feelings, and for the sake of her own, she responds with a shrug; that was enough for Link to understand.

He doesn't smile.

“I think so, too.”

The silence was unavoidable. Usually, when Link was at a loss for words, the void was filled with Zelda's unnecessary chatter. But she was out of ideas, out of breath, speechless and afraid of the things that were to come. That was okay, though—right? She didn't need to comfort him. She wasn't tasked to be his emotional support system. What she wanted was different from what she needed to do; she wanted to take him away and live an earnest life free from the pressure of their destiny, but she needed to stay with him and fight Ganon. She wanted to be his friend again, but she needed to be his knight. Link wanted to tell Zelda to leave him alone, but he needed her just as much as she needed him. The rays of the sun continue to taunt the tension of the room, seeping through the slits of the windows, through the holes from the ceiling; but the atmosphere between the two of them was far from warm. It was chilling and guarded—it made Zelda realize that moment that Link didn't need her words to fill the hollowness of it all.

But when His Majesty's eyes fall to the floor, she begins to wonder if she should hold his hand.

* * *

Ever since she was crowned champion, Zelda walked several paces behind Link.

Five on normal days. The distance between them was sufficient. She was able to stay alert, to be aware of her surroundings, and he was able to focus on writing whatever he was on his little Sheikah tablet. Four paces for when Zelda is troubled by his recklessness when it came to his well-being. He's been taking more and more risks everyday, seemingly unbothered by the ever-growing numbers of monsters in the land. She walked three paces behind him when they were in the presence of the champions—it was a ploy to make it seem like they were getting along swimmingly, despite the unpleasant feelings that Link harbored for her. Two paces when Impa was around. Coincidentally, when Zelda was two paces behind His Majesty, Lady Impa made sure to walk two paces in front of him, for reasons neither of them could ascertain. Rare were the days wherein Link allowed Zelda to walk one step behind him—and more often than not, those days were the most difficult ones, as the prince was never quite fond of close proximity with any of them.

Over time, Link allowed Zelda to walk beside him. Provided that they were alone.

“I don't get it,” he hisses under his breath, his legs crossed, leaning comfortably on the surface of the cold boulder they settled on. She shoots him a confused look. “Perhaps I'm doing something wrong? After all, there is no written information about the powers of the slate..”

He continues mumbling his brains out; his fingers soon wrapping around his chin, his eyebrows furrowing together as his gaze extends to the horizon in the distance. She watches him with amusement; laying the master sword beside her. The sun was heading west. Judging by their shadows, it couldn't have been later than four in the afternoon. She lets him indulge in his frustrated thinking, because he probably needs it after a day of working, and besides; the ride back to the castle would not take more than an hour. They can make it before Impa begins to worry.

“You're awfully quiet today.” His voice was curious. Zelda turns her head to face him, tilting it after, arching up her eyebrow in the process. 

“Would you be interested in what I have to say?”

He chuckles at that, not bothering to hide his blatant amusement. Only Zelda dared to talk to the prince with such a scrutinizing tone.

“No, I don't think so.”

He lets his shoulders slowly relax, easing into the warmth that his companion radiated, the sleeves of his blue tunic pushing against the sleeves of her own. He searches for a sign of resentment in her expression, but there was only neutrality, and Link begins to wonder why there was none. She was always nonchalant. Whenever she wasn't, she bore the brightest of smiles. She wasn't supposed to smile. He didn't like it when she did.

“You're really weird.” Link watches the clouds in the sky flow along its surface. The blue was slowly blending with the orange, a warning that the eventide was sneaking in, and the end of the day was edging closer and closer. He doesn't care. His mother will have to understand, he thinks to himself, already dreading the scolding he was inevitably going to receive once they went home.

Zelda pauses. “I don't know what you mean,”

His eyes narrowed into slits, confusion evident on his face. He nudges her by her shoulder, soon shifting his weight on her lightly—he didn't care if she minded, he was sure she wasn't going to speak against it, anyway. 

“I insult you. All the time. I downplay your experiences. I invalidate your existence.” Link lets his eyes flutter close. Zelda admires the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, wanting nothing else than to trace her fingers on them, maybe place light kisses on the surface of his gentle, gentle skin. She feels the edges of her ears grow warm, soon choosing to ignore it.

“You are allowed to think what you wish.”

His Majesty lets one of his eyelids open, peering at Zelda intriguingly.

“Your existence is just as important as mine,” 

She was growing bolder by the second. With her heart close to leaping out of her chest, she brings her fingers up to touch his skin; he winces at first, but he eases into it in the end. Carefully, she guides her hand to his eyelid, letting them close once again. He doesn't flinch anymore.

“Incorrect.” She whispers against his ears. “You are far more worthwhile than I am.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I don't get why you'd think that,”

That was true. Link may not share the same sentiments with the prophecy, but in the eyes of those who knew, the two of them were both essential in saving Hyrule. In chess terms, he was king, and she was queen. Zelda's prowess was needed every minute of every day. She moved, and took and took and took, until the time her only task was to protect her king from getting checked. Link was essential in the last few rounds. He had to stay safe, stay protected, until the day he was able to seal Ganon away. Until he was able to call for a checkmate.

He didn't need to do much. But he worked hard, still, up to the extent that the joints of his bones burned and the blood in his veins spilled. She didn't need to do much, too, but she did everything to lighten the load on Link's shoulders. He couldn't wrap his head around her reasons for doing so.

“Well, I am destined to protect you.” The ghost of a grin settles onto her pale lips—Link can feel his heart aching subtly.

“You don't have to, though.”

In retaliation, Zelda runs her fingers through the locks of his blond hair, emitting a satisfied hum thereafter. He nuzzles closer to her chest. “But I want to.”

The clouds were stirring in the sky—the female could faintly hear the huffing and gruffing of their steeds, tied around a nearby tree. It was almost time to leave.

“I don't get it. I don't get you, Zel.”

He spoke in volumes she couldn't ascertain. His tone was not hostile today. Almost as if he wanted her to speak—almost as if he gave her the notion to tell him what she wanted to, and he was going to listen. For today. So, she selfishly indulged in the momentary freedom; tracing his scars, admiring his resolve, speaking her mind. Wondering what it would feel to cup his cheeks in her hands, pull him close to her, kiss him, hide from the people that didn't matter, and then pull him closer. The world would fall away. The lingering doubt of their destiny would dissipate until the remnants were enough to just shrug off. If she kissed him, she knew, it wasn't willed by the Goddesses. She would kiss him because she wanted to. The line between her wants and her needs would blur out, and he would let the embers of his fervor disintegrate into perpetual nothingness. If Link was free from the chains of his fate, maybe he'd love Zelda. That was wishful thinking in her part, but it was a bitter truth in his.

She retracts her hand when he stirs in his rest. They were barely friends, she tells herself, they were barely acquaintances. Just a pair of strangers who are forced to stay together until the end of time.

“For what it's worth, you're not very easy to decipher as well.”

After that, Zelda knew she was allowed to walk one pace behind His Majesty on the way home.

* * *

The sky was empty.

On some nights, Zelda escaped the comforts of her bed in the castle, opting to sneak around in the fields inside the premises when no one was around. The soldiers were asleep. The horses were quiet in the stable, the guardians were shut down; on nights like those, the only thing she heard was her rhythmic breathing. She would traverse through one of the empty fields, and lay atop the dew-filled grass soundly, letting sleep capture her whole.

She's never been caught. But the sound of rustling grass and soft footsteps might just change that fact.

Rising from the soil, a splurge of panic rushes through her veins, her heart beating erratically as the shadow from a near distance inched closer and closer; Zelda decides then and there to run away from the scene, but a hand tugs on her wrist firmly when she was about to slip away.

The air from her lungs is gone. She turns her head to the side, the tips of her gold hair swaying along with the motion. 

The moonbeams did wonders on Link's skin.

“You don't have to go,” he tells her, his voice coming out in desolate whispers. He was wearing only his white undershirt, a pair of brown trousers, and some worn out boots. She gawks at his simplicity, silently obliging with her charge soon after.

He doesn't let go of her wrist; instead, he pulls her down next to him, sitting cross-legged on the wet grass.

“I've always known you went here at night,” Link raises his head, eyes plastered endearingly at the vast sky, searching for even the faintest glimmer of the stars from afar. There were no clouds tonight—no apparent stars, no constellations to trace, no falling meteors to cast wishes upon. But the moon was there; maybe that was enough. “You're not as sly as you think you are.”

“What?” She was grateful for the dark, for once in her life, because she was able to hide the shade of pink that dusted her cheeks. Zelda's chest tightens in embarrassment, the urge to run away and head back to her quarters heightening soon after.

Link doesn't notice the way the knots in her shoulders tense up.

“I see you through my windows.”

“Oh.”

The prince leans closer towards her.

“You know what I think?”

She shakes her head meekly at his query, not particularly caring whether or not he was looking at her. On some level, she knew he was paying attention to her, so he was still probably able to grasp her wordless response. 

“I think you only come here when you become increasingly nervous.” The way he moved tonight juxtaposed the status he was born with. Sloppily, he let his torso fall to the ground, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his white top was probably going to get tarnished by the residual soil of the earth. His arms extend to both sides, soon gesturing Zelda to lay beside him by patting the empty space near his person. It takes her a while to process the scenario, but once all was well, she lets the back of her head fall on his bicep, using it as a pillow.

The hero takes a deep breath next to him.

“So what?”

“It's refreshing. It provides me with a sense of normalcy, you know?” After speaking, Link raises his free arm, his hand reaching out for the skies, clenching and unclenching his fist lightly—Zelda only watches him with curiosity flooding her system. “It's nice to see I'm not the only one apprehended by all of this.”

The sound of her genuine laugh was a rare gift that only a few have lived to hear. Link was one of them.

“You mean, it's nice to know that you're not the only one suffering?” She retorts, a grin on her lips. She continues to stare at the sky—but she was well aware of the pair of azure eyes that flickered to her lips every now and then.

“Well, that, too.”

Silence. They've been engulfed by a lot of those recently.

Only when they were alone. When they were surrounded by their peers, everything was bustling with life. Mipha made Link smile. The Zora Princess made everyone smile, primarily because she was as nurturing as she was strong—Zelda was lucky to have her as a friend. Revali filled the emptiness with his words of valor and arrogance; there was never a dull moment with him around. But in spite of what they felt, none of them were willing to say that out loud, much less in front of Revali, as it would only deepen the pit of his ego. Urbosa was comforting. Being a close friend to Link even prior to the whole champion ordeal, she knew him better than anyone else. He'd confide in her from time to time, but those instances gradually decreased when Zelda arrived. Urbosa was fond of the hero, though, as she enjoyed tormenting her until she was flustered. Daruk was a friend to all. It was a rare occurrence for him to be rude to anyone, and quite frankly, he was probably the only one who would give Zelda a second look once it came to it. Impa was Impa. She was faithful to Link, to the crown prince, and only to him. Perhaps she was loyal to the throne, or the family—but even if she was, she did a horrible job of showing it, especially since she usually only abided by Link's wishes. Zelda liked Impa. Impa tolerated Zelda because of her loyalty to Link.

Somewhere along the way, Zelda was talkative around everyone but Link. Link was quiet around everyone but Zelda. They were friends, once, right before fate decided to trifle with the life of the esteemed hero. He was okay with her being the best soldier in town. He was okay with her being his scrawny brawny friend. Zelda thought he'd be okay with her as his champion, but that was obviously not the case when she first saw his sapphire eyes pierce her emerald ones with dejection and pain.

However, the silence between them usually wasn't deafening.

“I still don't have my powers, Zel.” It was Link who broke the steady flow of breathing, choosing to drown out the singing of the restless crickets in the vicinity. “And I don't think I'll get them in time.”

She lays her palm atop his hand, which was placed idly on his chest. 

“Don't say that.” Her tone was demanding—almost as if she wasn't directly below him in terms of class and status. Link shakes his head, exchanging the position of their hands so that his was on top of hers, giving it a light squeeze subsequently after.

“I can say what I want.” Smug tone. She laughs at the immaturity of his statement.

The vestige of yearn and utmost longing swirled inside Zelda, and although she wanted nothing else than to sleep next to him, she stifled her desires by retaliating, “Yes, but not that.”

Link scoffs—initially, out of her foolishness, but gradually because of her casual demeanor. She's not offended. Soon, he reopens his mouth to add, “You're only my appointed knight. You don't get a say in the words I speak.”

“We were friends first before I was your knight.” Zelda frowns at him thereafter.

Sincerely, he questions, “We're not friends now?” 

The blonde female directs a knowing stare at Link, analyzing the crease in his brow, and the corners of his lips, which were pulled down to an uncertain frown. She dismisses the thought of asking him about it by answering, “Not unless you want us to be.”

He stays quiet for a few seconds—seemingly pondering deeply about her response. She chews on the seams of her bottom lip in anticipation.

But Zelda is disappointed when he answers.

“I don't.”

She pauses, a lingering feeling of disappointment swirling rapidly beneath her skin, threatening to break out through the edges of her bones.

“Then we're not.”

“Right.”

She was okay with just being able to share clandestine moments of intimacy with Link from time to time. She knew that whenever he saw her, with that wretched sword hanging quaintly on her back, he felt even more inept and unfit for the role he was supposedly born into. Link's late father undoubtedly possessed the holy sealing powers way back from when he was alive—but Link was none the wiser back then, he was just a child, an innocent little being who unknowingly had his whole life panned out for him ever since the day His Royal Highness died from a sickness. Zelda wasn't born into her fate; or at least, that's what they told her. She was chosen rightfully by the sword when they were out in the Korok forest, when Zelda reached out to protect Link from a group of highly distorted malice versions of the four champions. The Great Deku Tree told her that she was the one to accompany Link in his journey to end Ganon.

Link exhales a deep breath of discontentment. He rolls over to his side, his nose making contact with Zelda's own, basking in her touch. He was so close to her, and even from this proximity, he could see the glint of wonderment grow ever-present in Zelda's eyes. He lets himself get lost in them.

“If our roles were reversed, would you want to be friends with me?”

“Not at first.”

“But?”

“But if I can trust you with my life, then I suppose I can trust you with other mundane things.”

The sky was empty, still, but they filled it with needless chatter of whatever it was that they wanted to address. Occasionally, Link would allow Zelda to speak of her own distant desires, but she usually declined his offers, primarily because she could not possibly let him know that the one thing she wanted to do for the rest of their life together was to protect Link until he no longer needed her.

When the beginnings of the sun peeked at the two of them from the horizon, they wordlessly rose from the earth, dusting off dirt and dust and mud and soil, a satisfied smile on both of their faces. He etches the sound of her laughter in his head, deciding then that he was no longer going to block them out. She engraves the feeling of his hand on hers.

“You're a peculiar one, hero.”

When Zelda turned her heel around to face Link, he was beaming brightly at her.

“You're not so normal yourself, Your Majesty.”

* * *

Link was fourteen years old when he met Zelda.

She was thirteen then. New to the barracks, still learning from the ones with superior skills when it came to the art of wielding swords. She was bright, like the sun, and her hair made it seem like she was the actual embodiment of light. Link hid behind the head soldier then, pointing curiously at Zelda, but never once uttering out a word.

He was fifteen when Zelda rose up to the top of the ranks—easily climbing past veterans of ancient battles; she was a natural. When the castle was seized with a variety of monsters, Zelda delved into the chaos with no regards for her safety. She was reckless and unafraid in the face of adversity. He liked that. He liked her.

Her Royal Highness the Queen of Hyrule appointed Zelda to be Link's personal knight after that, beaming with pride, offering her the deepest of gratitude and bewilderment because of her extraordinary swordsmanship.

From there, she went wherever he went, swearing her utmost loyalty to her charge. Her company was as good as her skills in the art of the blade. She spoke the language of comfort and understanding fluently, always, always extending her patience especially when Link was nearing the brink of having a meltdown. Zelda always understood, even when she was not supposed to.

Link was sixteen when Zelda was given the prestige title of the Hero of Hyrule.

The resentment started there. The sword on her back taunted Link, it haunted him when he slept; a painful reminder that he was the last missing piece in successfully fulfilling the destiny that's been passed down for centuries. Not only was his part the most important one, it was also the most prominent in history, as it was only present in their heritage.

But his powers still showed no signs of awakening.

The path leading away from the Spring of Power was ephemeral. Grand, everlasting, the faint feeling of nostalgia circulating within the air. Link rubbed his arms in search of warmth, blue eyes plastered deathly on the ground. 

“Are you cold?”

Link waves his hand dismissively after Zelda poses her question, shaking his head at the same time. A wave of sadness washes over her, soon letting her emotions settle freely in her mind. She locks her arm onto Link's own, softly drawing circles on his shoulder.

“There are rumors of a horrid smell circulating throughout the royal library,”

She fills in the quiet by telling him the stories she heard from the troops. The soldiers had a lot of them—primarily because they were usually all over the palace, and when they were not training, they were with their peers; speaking incessantly about the wonders that occurred within the premises, sometimes spreading silly rumors to pass the time.

“Really, I think it's probably just Daruk sneaking in some food for the scholars again.”

Hearty laugh; she doesn't care if he was listening or not. Over time, Link grew comfortable around her again, the ghost of his wariness disintegrating into fondness. She bore no faults in their situation, however, because the negative feelings he harbored for her in the past were directly rooted to his failure as the successor of an ancient power. Zelda was pristine, flawless, perfect. She's always been a masterpiece. Link was unruly, impatient, and disoriented—he spent most of his time offering prayers to the Goddesses, to Hylia, in hopes of them answering back. Whenever he wasn't praying, he was offering them songs and music, through violins or celestas. He was unready for the challenges up ahead—perhaps that was why he let himself fall victim to unneeded indulgence.

Link was barely seventeen when he kissed Zelda behind one of the many arches that were lined up near the Spring of Power.

It took her by surprise. He halted her steps, he pulled her to the side, and then he pinned her to the wall—his lips crashing onto hers, moving in sync with the beats of his pulsating heart. He ran his fingers through her hair, and he tugged, until he could feel Zelda's grip on his cream cloak tighten in anticipation. Link likes the sound of her voice, but he liked it better when her lips were on his.

They part to inhale a deep breath, their pulses palpable and rapid, desperately trying to replenish the air they lost.

Zelda was a little over the age of sixteen when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

* * *

The vast majority of central Hyrule was riddled with wandering guardians, ready to shoot a beam of fatal light once they caught sight of anything that moved.

So, she ran. She ran until her legs grew numb. Eyes forward, arm extended behind her, grip tight on Link's wrist. Free hand on the handle of the master sword. Something was burning—the trees, maybe. An entire forest. The sky was dark; but it was barely four in the afternoon. There was blood in her mouth. Her tunic was riddled with crimson, her sword was wilting, she was crying, sweating, she was everything. Link was stumbling behind her with unsteady breaths escaping his lips.

His eyes are empty. The world was falling away.

“Link,” she whispers, but it was enough for him to hear. They pass by burning soldiers. He's close to vomiting his stomach out—she gulps. “Link. Link. Listen to me.”

His tears are streaming evidently down his dirt-stained cheeks. He was beautiful with whatever expression he fashioned, but Zelda decides then and there that he didn't look good with hot tears falling by the edge of his jaw.

“I have to get you somewhere safe. We'll go to.. to the Koroks. To Impa. Fuck,” she hisses, fighting back the glaring pain of her injuries. She's grateful for them, no matter how painful they were, because they kept her conscious. “We have to continue running, Your Majesty, we have to. I got you.”

He trusted her. But he knew she was just as tired as him—possibly even more.

The screaming echoed loudly in Hyrule. His people were perishing—they were right about him. He failed. He failed. The champions have fallen, the castle was in ruins, the guardians turned against them. Link failed all of them. All the prayers, all the battles, the experiments, the studies he conducted in secret. The missions he held, the plans of the Sheikah, Hyrule. He failed the families that had bright hopes for the future; the children who dreamt of becoming scholars, soldiers, those who dreamt of traveling the world. 

He failed Zelda. All of her training—gone; down through the drain, because of his incompetence.

“Listen to me, Link, breathe. Breathe. Stay with me. We can.. Purah. We'll go to Purah if we can't find Impa.”

Link is out of everything. Beaten, afraid, disappointed, exhausted. He failed everyone. The smoke in the sky and the cries for help lingered in his mind like a mantra, replaying, over and over until he was forced to remember the anguish vividly. He can't feel anything. The soles of his boots are hitting the soil, but his body was out of its rhythm. His hand was warm. Zelda was warm. She was here. He failed her, but she was here, and she was holding on, both to him and to the uncertain promise of tomorrow.

He feels the joint in his elbow ache—the fatigue spreads throughout his body, but he doesn't yield.

They reach a forest. It wasn't burning. Link is relieved, but the emotion was short-lived, because he trips on a branch; maybe a rock. Zelda twirls around to hoist him up, but he can no longer feel his bones, so he pulls his knight down with him on the muddy soil.

Through the cracks of his voice, she was able to make out the words he croaked out.

“What did we do wrong, Zel?” The prince lets his hand clench around the hem of her tunic, tugging her closer towards him. “We.. I failed. I failed. Mother was right. I am not worthy. The Goddesses must hate me.”

“We still have a chance to turn this around. You are worth so much more than this—Goddess, you are worth more than I am, more than anything. But we have to go, Link, we have to.”

Comfort and urgency shroud her tone of voice, paranoia seeping in her head when she hears the sound of metal gears in the distance. But Link was inconsolable. She understands. But they were out of time—they were out of choices, out of breath, out of words, out of hope. All they had was the other. It's always been like that, they've always been together, but it wasn't supposed to end like this—the prophecy has never ended like this in the past.

“We have to leave. Breathe, Link, they're coming.”

No matter how prevalent, the persuasion in her tone was not enough to soothe his nerves. He was a mess. They had ten minutes until a guardian spotted them—they had to get up in roughly seven minutes if they wanted to be able to get a headstart. They had to run. The champions have fallen, Zelda thinks to herself, they were the last hope for Hyrule. Mipha, Daruk, Revali, Urbosa, their lives were all in vain if Zelda couldn't even take the first step in their strategic retreat.

She combs through the knots of Link's sandy blond hair, muttering sweet nothings in his ear. His breathing evens out after a few seconds. She listens to him ramble.

“I don't get it. I don't get you. I don't..”

He was trying his best to hide his sniffles, but his hiccups were far too loud. She frowns at his tears. He was vulnerable and weak and tired and afraid. She was all of those things and more, but she was forced to stay calm. Her mind was alert. Her heart was pounding hard against the frames of her chest. The resolve was inside there somewhere, but her determination was far too faint for it to show in her exterior.

“This is not the time. I have to get you somewhere safe.” She tells him, placing assuring kisses on his forehead, her hand soon making its way to wrap around his shoulder blades.

“You don't have to. You shouldn't have to. I failed you—”

She cups his cheeks in her hands, forcing him to face her devastated pupils.

“Irrelevant. You did not fail me.”

He winces. “I failed everyone else.”

“So did I.”

He pushes her hands away from his face, moving forward, burying his face at the crook of her neck as he let his tears sully the sleeves of her torn tunic. “No! You were perfect, Zel, you've always been.”

She rubs his back lightly, eyes scanning the surrounding area. She hears a rumbling sound from the distance—screams of moblins, too. She disregards that momentarily, her free hand patting the area beside her to ensure that the master sword was still within her reach lest an ambush surprised them.

“We have to go, Link.”

They had to go. He knew that, but he was too disheartened to acknowledge it.

“Leave me.”

“I can't.”

His voice fluctuates from high and low volumes, a sense of panic overtaking Zelda because she's never heard him scream before. He was quiet. Silent prince; he only talked to Zelda, occasionally the champions, rarely with Impa, almost never when it came to his mother. 

“It doesn't matter if our fate dictates that you are to protect me until your dying breath!”

Zelda snaps at him after that, pushing him away from her, royal status be damned.

“My desire to protect you has _always_ been a choice—whether it was willed by the Goddesses or not is completely unnecessary.”

She forces herself up. Her torso was bleeding. The adrenaline from her system was dissipating, and whatever remains of her will to fight was gradually slipping away. She couldn't let that happen. Not when Link was still unsafe. She was not allowed to be weak, not now, possibly not ever, because she had to stay strong—for both her sake, and his.

When Link's gaze falls on the ground, Zelda begins to wonder if she should allow herself to mourn.

“I am _unworthy,_ Zelda.”

She takes him by his elbow, and she hears him groaning in pain—she decidedly ignores it, gripping tight onto the sword in her left hand, tugging Link up with a heavy sigh threatening to escape the chambers of her lungs.

“You are worth all that I have to give.” She mumbles bitterly against his ears, when he was finally back on his feet. Zelda no longer cowers under the piercing weight of his sapphire optics, only because they were free of resentment now—filled with nothing but emptiness and dejection.

She starts running. His fingers were intertwined with her own. She pulls him close, he steadies his breathing, she pulls him closer, until all he could think of was the way her eyes shone with something akin to painful longing, love, apprehension, and silent promises.

The prince walks one pace behind the hero.

“Fort Hateno. We'll head to the fort.”


End file.
